


Shea Butter and Coconut Oil

by MjolnirMjolfar



Series: SweetPool [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Deadpool - Freeform, Drowning, Dry skin, F/M, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Female Character of Color, Multiple Orgasms, Near Death Experiences, Oral Sex, lotion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MjolnirMjolfar/pseuds/MjolnirMjolfar
Summary: Deadpool has seriously dry skin. He needs relief. Maybe the African goddess with the headwrap can help.





	1. A Bee to Honey

“Ugh. This lotion dries up faster than spit for lube.”  
Blind Al scrunches her face and remarks: “That’s nasty.”  
“Well, in a pinch--” Deadpool starts.  
“NO! There’s no reason you should be walking around with dry, crusty, dusty skin” she makes a disapproving noise as she shuffles back to the living room.  
“How would you know, you can't even see.”  
“I can HEAR the dryness, asshole.” She shouts over her shoulder.

[What does Al know anyway?] Deadpool asks out loud.  
Al has soft, smooth, moist skin-- maybe she has better lotion.

“Al! Where is your lotion?” He calls to the living room.  
“I’m out. But I get it from the Africans.” Al reveals.  
“The Africans?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Aren’t you…?”  
“No, I’m Black.”  
“But… nevermind. Where can I find the Africans?” Deadpool asks.  
“Start in Little Lagos. Now shut up, I can’t hear my program.” Al turns the tv up louder.

[Little Lagos it is. Come on, you too] Deadpool says to the screen.  
Feeling self-conscious about the way his skin looks, he puts his full costume back on, minus the katanas. 

Deadpool makes his way through the city, relying on his ears and nose to figure out where he is. He keeps moving past the smells of kimchi, fresh sushi, and tikka masala. Once he smells jollof rice and egusi soup, he slows down and begins looking for a place that might sell lotion. 

After asking a few people, he finds himself in front of a shop that looks like a health food store: There are fresh herbs in the windowsill, a few display stands of products in vials and jars, and a long counter along the back. The lights are so low that Deadpool wasn’t sure it was open until he walked in the door and heard a blender whirring.

He heads toward the noise, while taking in the rest of the decor. There are himalayan salt lamps on most flat surfaces and just as many glittering geodes scattered about. The noise is coming from an electric hand blender, beating some type of cream. The goddess holding the blender is wearing a golden yellow headwrap, with large earrings poking out. Her white wrap blouse has a low plunge that almost touches the top of her wax print skirt. 

The powerful vibrations of the hand blender made her breasts jiggle. One looked dangerously close to popping free of her blouse. She furrowed her brows as she stopped blending to check the consistency of the product. 

“Are you enjoying the show, Mr. Pool?” She speaks without meeting his eyes.  
“You know it” He winks back, “How do you know me?”  
“You visited my sister’s food truck, An Island Taste.”  
“Ya, best mofongo in New York”  
She meets his eyes and corrects him: “Best everything in New York”  
Satisfied with the consistency, she begins spooning the fluffy cream into a large jar. Her skin is cognac with golden undertones, smooth and perfect. Deadpool remembers why he came.

“Do you have a good lotion? My skin is dry.”  
She throws her head back and laughs, more gong than glockenspiel sounding. The laugh bounces off the walls of the shop, then disappears as suddenly as it started.  
“Understatement of the year. I could tell you were ashy when you walked in.” She says pointedly.  
“How?”  
“Your skin sounds like sandpaper making love to itself.”  
“Ouch.” He winces.  
She leaves the counter and walks toward Deadpool, and looks him up and down before asking:  
“So besides dryness, is there anything else you want relief from?”  
“Wow, you’re forward. I like that. Actually, my d--”  
“Be very careful with your next words, Mr. Pool.”  
“My dermis. Ahem. My dermis is tight, itchy, and sensitive to fabric softener.”  
She eyes him steadily for a moment, before turning away and looking through a row of oils and creams. After she has a small collection, she calls over her shoulder: “Follow me. We’ll use the back room for privacy”  
“Oh boy!” Deadpool jumps and clicks his heels before following the shopkeeper. 

The back room looks like a spa treatment area. There is a small sauna, a large tub, a wooden bench, a dressing area with cubbies, a massage table, and presumably a bathroom tucked away. There are rainforest sounds playing softly through a speaker, and the tinkle of water on rocks from a small fountain.

“Take off the amount of clothing you are comfortable with, so that I can see your skin.” She instructs, “Then take a seat on the table, and we will test a few products.”  
Deadpool strips completely naked and hops on the table with so much gusto that his flaccid self flops too.  
Strictly professional, she asks: “ Do you have any allergies to latex?”  
He gives a sexy growl and responds that he has no known allergies.  
She approaches him and gently takes his forearm in her hand. She sprays his arm with water, puts a few drops of oil on his skin, followed by a thick cream that is readily absorbed.  
“How does that feel?” She asks.  
“Wow! It feels great! The tightness and itchiness is gone. Too bad it looks the same.” He shrugs about the last bit, with a wide smile on his face.  
“This is the LOC method. You apply a liquid, such as a shower or bath, and immediately after, apply an oil, then a cream. You’ll want to give the cream a few minutes to be fully absorbed into your skin. Do this for a week and then come back and see me.”  
“Thanks!” He starts to get dressed and asks “What’s your name?”  
“Oyin. It means honey.”

~~~  
Deadpool bounces back into the shop, Salve-ation, a week later. For seven days, Oyin has been in his thoughts. Everything about Oyin is big, her eyes, her lips, her smile, her breasts, her hips, and her ass. Her name, thick as honey, has been on his tongue. He practically shouts it:  
“Oyin!” He beams beneath his mask. She’s behind the counter again, this time adding drops of essential oil to a large vial of jojoba oil. She speaks without looking up.

“I see you’ve found relief from your dry, itchy skin. Let me know if you would like to try a more intimate product.”  
“Do I get to try it with you?” The words tumble out his mouth.  
“I will not warn you again to mind your tongue.” This time she glares at him.  
“Using my tongue is kinda my thing. And talking. Lots of talking.”  
Oyin sighs. “You look like the kind of guy who spends a lot of time with his hand.”  
Deadpool puts on an expression of mock shock. “I also have a unicorn!”, he retorts.  
Oyin goes quiet. A beat passes. Then another. Just as Deadpool is about to break the heaviness of the silence, Oyin speaks.

“I never asked… why does your skin look like that?” Her eyes lock in with his.  
“Cancer.” He responds without mirth.  
“I thought so. My mom had cancer too.” Oyin abandons the counter and approaches Deadpool. Her movements are slow and deliberate.  
“How is she?”  
“Dead.” She presses her body into him as she gently lifts his face mask and kisses him. He returns the kiss in earnest, gloved hands gripping the softness of her sides. She breaks the kiss and catches her breath.  
“Sooo does cancer turn you on? Or was this a pity kiss?”  
She looks at him sharply. “Neither” 

She walks to the front door, flips the open sign, and turns the lock. Then she turns and walks into the back room, leaving the door ajar.


	2. Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool follows Oyin to the spa room behind the retail area.

[That’s an invitation, right? It’s literally an open door to the Goddess of Thicc. She wants to smash! She wants to bang! She wants the D...P! Deadpool of course.]

“Mr. Pool, are you going to join me or talk to your boxes all afternoon?” Oyin coos from the back room.

Deadpool bursts through the door. The room is darker than the last time, lit only with candles and salt lamps. Oyin stands near the table, her skin radiant as ever. Her regal headwrap today is black with tiny gold stars and crescent moons all over. Her skirt matches her headwrap, and is so long it almost touches the ground. Deadpool takes his mask all the way off.

“Welcome to the Temple of Oyin. What is it you seek?” she croons.  
He plays along: “An offering that will make the walls of the temple quake with pleasure.”  
Oyin grins.  
“In order to do that, you’ll have to taste the nectar of my namesake.”  
“This parched traveler will gladly drink your nectar.” Deadpool struggles to stay in character, and adjusts the bulge straining in his pants. 

He goes to kiss her, but she tilts her head back and shoves his face in her cleavage. He restrains himself from making a motorboat noise, and instead peppers her breasts with kisses. He tentatively nips a few areas, and is encouraged by her ‘mhmms’. He finds a neat bow near her waistline and unties it. She relaxes her shoulders and lets the blouse fall to the ground. Her breasts are bursting out of her bra, so he frees them immediately and finds a nipple with his mouth. While he sucks, he traces the large areola of the other, circling closer and closer before pinching the other nipple. Her noises of approval let him know that he better repeat his actions on the opposite sides before working his way down.

He grabs the tie of her skirt and pulls, letting it puddle around her feet. He drinks in her voluptuous shape: massive breasts hanging like ripe fruit, pillowy tummy, thunderous thighs, and a matching ass. He tries to grab handfuls of ass, but Oyin chuckles at the futility of his effort. 

“My Honey Goddess, won’t you rest on the table, so I can make my offering?” He asks sweetly.  
Oyin obliges his request and settles onto the table.  
In the dim light, he appreciates more of her body. His gloved hands knead into her flesh, as his mouth litters her skin with kisses, nips, and licks. He works his way toward a neat patch of jet black curls, and drops to his knees in reverence.

“Permission to enter the temple of honey?” he asks.  
Oyin spreads her legs wide. “Granted.”  
Deadpool nuzzles her inner thigh, while gripping the outer sides with his hands.  
Oyin crosses her feet behind him, impatiently pulling his face closer to her core.  
Deadpool suddenly gives a full lick from bottom to top. Oyin’s breath hitches. He repeats the action, slowly like he’s enjoying an ice cream cone.  
“More.” Oyin quietly commanded.  
He thoroughly wet her clitoris with his saliva and her juices, then lightly swirled circles around it, licked, then swirled counterclockwise.  
She squeezed his head with her thighs.  
“Suck me.” she whimpered.  
He stopped the swirling and started sucking, gently, making small popping noises in the wetness.  
Oyin’s orgasm was thunderous, a crescendo of her rumbling moans parallelled the sound demonstration in XD theaters.  
Deadpool resumed the swirls, then the long licks to bring Oyin back down.  
The squeeze of her thighs went slack was his cue to admire his work.  
She smiled with half-lidded eyes. “Mr. Pool, excellent warm-up. Are you ready for a baptism?”

Deadpool looks down at his body. “I’m not really dressed for church.”  
“Lay down on the ground, flat on your back” She orders.  
“Ooooh I wonder where this is going?” He slides his suit off, and winks once he’s in position.  
Oyin slides off the table and stands over his body, before lowering herself to her hands and knees above him. He lifts his arms to give her ass a squeeze, but she reprimands him:  
“Arms down!”  
He puts his arms down and she crawls over his body, letting her tiddies and tummy rub against him, before sitting on his chest.  
Deadpool looks hungrily at her dripping cunt and asks: “Sooo, how deep are these waters?”  
Oyin hovers over his face, before lowering her body slowly onto his waiting tongue.  
They both moan at the sensation.  
DP begins to eat in earnest, making obnoxious slurping noises. The slurping pleases Oyin, and she grinds her clit against his wet nose. Presses his nose against her, and starts thrusting his tongue inside of her, feeling the slick ridges.  
Oyin rests her weight entirely on his face, a torrential downpour of juices flood his mouth and face.  
Deadpool can’t breathe, but he can’t stop pleasuring her. His lungs are on fire, and neck feels like it might crack. Oyin thunders again, and this time he feels her walls quake around his tongue.  
His vision blurs, then everything fades to white.

#

When he regenerates, Oyin is dressed and waiting for him to come to. His suit is neatly folded.His face and neck have been washed and moisturized.  
“I see I made it to heaven this time.” Oyin rolls her eyes. “When can we do that again?”  
Oyin responds: “Never. You’ve been blessed by the Temple of Honey. I do have someone to introduce you to though, maybe over tacos”

“I love tacos.” He beams.  
“I know” Oyin laughs at her own joke, then continues, “Get dressed, I know the perfect taco truck”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So do you want to know who Deadpool needs to meet? Or should I end it here?

**Author's Note:**

> Are you ready for some smut in the next chapter?


End file.
